


Keep you alive

by harborshore



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harborshore/pseuds/harborshore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras doesn't mean it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep you alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [torakowalski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/gifts).



> Happy birthday to my dearest Tora, who is getting a very silly story instead of the one I'm actually writing for her because I'm the slowest writer at the moment and the characters are just refusing to do what I want. So! Cute and silly and short, and I hope you like, darling. <3 The title is from Gaslight Anthem's "Desire".

“…I didn’t mean it,” says Enjolras.

Grantaire, whose face is still pale with hurt, raises an eyebrow at him. “Of course not.” His voice is dry. “Don’t play the housecat, Apollo, it doesn’t suit you.” Their friends are silent around them, which almost never happens. The Musain is always full of noise, and it gets worse when they have their meetings, particularly when Enjolras and Grantaire get into it. 

Enjolras didn’t intend for them to get into it like this, though. Ordinarily they snap at each other about “meaningless college activism” and “standing up for what you believe in," and it never ends like this.

“I really didn’t mean it,” Enjolras says, and he doesn’t know how to make Grantaire believe him. “You’re not—you’re not useless. You’re not talentless or any, any of the other things I said. I was just—“

“Blowing off steam?” Grantaire suggests. He shakes his head. “Like you ever say something you don’t mean. I usually like that about you.” He’s picking up his things, shoving his sketchbook into his bag like he means to leave. But he can’t.

“You can’t leave,” Enjolras says, and he’s really desperate to get control over his own voice or his words back; he never fumbles like this, usually. Only Grantaire can rattle him this badly.

“I can’t?” Grantaire says. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me. According to people who love me, I’m not supposed to sit around and get hurt just because someone feels like being cruel.”

“I love you,” Enjolras blurts, and no. He really didn’t mean to say that.

That doesn’t make it any less true, though. To his right, Courfeyrac covers his face with his hands.

“You—“ and Grantaire looks angry now, furious like he hasn’t looked in months, not since Enjolras first suggested they demonstrate against the welfare cuts (“Like they’ll care, Enjolras, they’ve already passed the bill”). “Don’t mock me, Enjolras, don’t fucking—“

“I’m. I’m not, though.” Enjolras says, because he doesn’t really tend to back down all that much once he starts something, and Grantaire’s hands are shaking. “I mean I do. Love you.”

“You can’t just say that,” Grantaire says helplessly.

“Why not?” Enjolras says. “It’s not an excuse for what I said earlier, but it’s true, and I promise I won’t make it awkward, just, that’s why I keep being so stupid about you. You deserve to know that.”

“Awkward,” Grantaire says wonderingly, and looks at Combeferre. “He really doesn’t know?”

Combeferre shakes his head. He’s smiling. 

Grantaire swallows. “I,” he says, and stops. Considers. “I never thought I’d say this to your face.” 

“Say what?” Enjolras says, bewildered.

“I do too,” Grantaire says. “Love you, I mean.

Enjolras has to sit down. “I have to sit down,” he says to no one in particular, but doesn’t move to do so. “What do you mean?”

Grantaire is smiling now, a wild, unfettered grin that makes Enjolras wants to reach out and touch him. (To be fair, he nearly always wants to reach out and touch Grantaire.)

“You should come here,” he says, and Enjolras maneuvers around the table shakily because he can’t not do what Grantaire says, not when he’s looking at Enjolras like that.

And then there’s a hand in his hair and Grantaire is kissing him, sweetly, softly, and their friends are possibly cheering but Enjolras doesn’t give a damn, and he holds on and kisses Grantaire back, eyes fluttering shut.

“Never letting you go,” Grantaire whispers, later, when they’re crammed into the same chair and listening to Courfeyrac lay out the plans for their next demonstration. Enjolras doesn’t know if he means literally, as in, “I’m going to keep holding your hand forever,” or metaphorically. He doesn’t really care.

**Author's Note:**

> PS. I am [infierceways](http://infierceways.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Come say hi!


End file.
